Not a Fairytale
by dokun
Summary: A collection of drabbles and shorts. Most are KandaAllen, with the occasional KandaRabiAllen or RabiAllen. There's even a bit of gen.
1. Not a Fairytale

Title: Not a Fairytale

Pairing: Kanda/Allen

Summary: The bards got it all wrong

The bards were all wrong, he thought, as he lay across the bed, chest heaving, muscles aching. It had felt weird, not always bad, but not always good either. Kanda had grunted a little, as he came, had reached out a lazy hand to jerk him off. Allen was half surprised when he came, and Kanda had fallen asleep almost immediately afterwards, snoring lightly. The earth did _not_ move; there were no trumpets, no epiphanies, no moments of "Ah, this is the one I'm destined for," and he would have suspected Komui of slipping one of his crazy drug prototype into the water supply if there had been, because _honestly_, it was _them_, and Allen still thought Kanda was a bastard, if, he grudged, an attractive one.

He was sweaty; he wanted a long, hot shower _badly_, and Kanda was _heavy_, passed out across his chest like a brick—if bricks came in great, lanky, squinty, disgruntled packages. He _hurt_; neither had known what they were doing, fumbling, limbs going in every direction, as they tried to make sense of which body went where. There had never been an opportunity to think about sex; he had never really felt the need, and it never felt right, that he should take the time out for his own pleasure when the Earl was moving forward, and no one else could see what he could. Besides, with Master as his only source of information, could anyone blame him for not enthusiastically seeking sex? He didn't think so.

As for Kanda, well, ignoring the fact that _Allen_ was there, sweaty, sore, trapped, and, he grimaced, sticky, who would want to sleep with something so grumpy? Dammit, had Komui drugged the water, after all? He prodded Kanda, but he just lay there like a lump. Allen fumed and he started to shove Kanda off the bed, and winced, lower back protesting the effort. Sighing, he gave up and settled down to sleep, Kanda's breath warm and gentle against his neck. "Next time," he muttered, "You're going to have to be on the bottom."


	2. Pedophile

Title: Pedophile

Pairing: Slight Kanda/Allen

Summary: No one is a pedophile. Really. Or, Rabi pokes Kanda.

After they caught the train and were seated in their own car, Allen ran off to find food and Rabi and Kanda settled into their seats to read their mission reports. Or rather, Kanda settled in to read. He felt eyes on him, and debated ignoring Rabi, but no, in the end, confronting him would take less energy.

"What!" Kanda said irritably turning to face Rabi. "I know you want _something_; don't just sit there and grin with that dumb look on your face."

"He's fifteen." Rabi grinned, eyes crinkling with glee.

"What?" Kanda tilted his head, now a touch of confusion lacing the irritation.

"Allen, he's fifteen." Rabi grinned.

"I know he's fifteen. So what?" Kanda turned away, a bored expression settling on his face.

"You're eighteen."

"I know that too." Kanda gritted his teeth. He would _not_ lose his temper; it never led anywhere with Rabi, nothing ever got past him, and he never missed any little opening that might provide the chance for good entertainment. And the next thing you knew, he would have started reciting accounts of the Battle of Tours, cheerfully ignoring you as you tried to chop his head off.

"So if you're eighteen," Rabi paused, "And he's fifteen," Kanda's teeth clenched, "That makes _you_…a pedophile." Rabi sat back, satisfied. His work was done.

Kanda's mouth dropped open, working silently for a few long seconds, before leaping to the other seat, grabbing Rabi's collar in both hands. "I AM NOT A PEDOPHILE, YOU-"

A curious voice broke in, "You're not a pedo-, a pedo-what did you say? What's that?" Allen mumbled. They looked up, at Allen, meatpies in hands and mouth, staring back and forth curiously. Kanda let go of Rabi's collar and slumped back on his own seat, studiously ignoring everything and staring out the window.

Rabi beamed like a proud father. "Well, you see Allen, a pedophile is someone who—URK!" Rabi's words were cut off as a booted foot planted itself squarely in his stomach. "Shut up. You've talked enough for today," Kanda growled.

"Huh? Huh?" Allen stood there, face slack, bewildered eyes jumping from a fuming Kanda to a hunched over, gasping Rabi, and back again.

"What are you doing, standing there like an idiot, bean sprout?" Kanda snapped, "Sit down and eat!"

Allen's eyes widened in anger, and he stomped over to Kanda, hurriedly swallowing down his food. "I am not a bean sprout! Allen! My name is Al. Len. Allen!" He shouted, breathing heavily.

"Whatever." Kanda smirked and waved his hand at the seat. "Sit down before your food gets cold and I have to listen to your whining."

"Whi-?" Allen huffed and threw himself in the seat, and settled down to eat his food at a prodigious rate, occasionally surfacing to shoot glares at Kanda.

Rabi smiled.


	3. Want

Title: Want

Pairing: Allen/Kanda/Rabi, Allen/Rabi

Summary: Allen wants

The thing about Allen is that most people forget how spectacularly simple he is. A more charitable person might perhaps use _clueless_, but either way, Allen is not quite on the level on the surrounding world.

Allen doesn't know that it isn't _normal_ to want to kiss two other people. He doesn't know that God and society consider it a sin to have relations with a man, doubly sinful with two. He doesn't know that he isn't supposed to wonder what it would be like, to run his fingers over another man's skin. But Allen, Allen _wants_. Allen sits in a train car with Rabi and Kanda after a mission, and all he can think about is how it feels as though he's never wanted anything more.

Allen wants to slide his hands down their sides, nestle in close, steal body heat and rest his cheek against smooth, warm skin. He wants to trace his fingers over that odd letter on Kanda's chest, then lean down and trace it with lips and tongue and teeth. He wants to kiss that burn scar on Rabi's right shoulder, run his tongue over the raised flesh, slide his lips to smooth skin and use teeth to leave his mark. And he really, _really_ wants to kiss them. Allen wants; he doesn't see any reason why he shouldn't want; he doesn't see any reason why he can't act and so he slides across the space between him and Rabi, puts his hand on Rabi's thigh and leans in.

It is warm and wet, soft, and slightly ticklish. A little laugh bubbles out of Allen's mouth. Rabi starts a little, and then laughs along, resting his forehead against Allen's. Strong arms wrap around Allen, pulling him flush against Rabi's body until he squeaks. Allen swings one leg over and wiggles around until he is comfortably kneeling astride. He smiles brightly and kisses Rabi again, wrapping arms around his neck, and melting against him as strong hands massage his thighs and roam over his back. Allen moans, he feels pleasantly warm, like after drinking tea on a cold, rainy day or sunning himself on the grass in late spring.

Kanda stares openmouthed, want and disappointment and envy warring at the back of his throat. He shakes his head, snapping himself out of his daze, and stands up quietly. He will give them privacy.

Kanda only takes a few steps before something grabs his hand. He follows that arm to Allen's face, flushed, hair in disarray, lips bruised, red, and shining with saliva. Kanda swallows hard. It is a good look for him. Those lips move. He has to shake his head before the words can register.

"Please," Allen asks, eyes pleading. _Please stay. Please let this happen._

He looks at Rabi, who is looking at Allen. Rabi looks as out of depth as _he_ feels. Kanda lets himself be drawn over and down, until he kneels beside them on the train seat.

"Please," Allen asks again, eyes wide and open. He leans up, mouth hungry, eyes closing, and what else can Kanda do but meet him halfway?

He looks into Rabi's eyes over Allen's shoulder. They will make this work.


	4. Call

Title: Call

Pairing: Kanda/Allen

Summary: Someone should have told Kanda not to play cards with Allen.

The evening passed; Kanda's scowl got darker and darker, Allen's smile got brighter. Just like a leech, Kanda thought uncharitably, or a vampire.

Suddenly, Allen grinned, and spread his hands. "I call."

Kanda threw his cards down in disgust, and glared.

"Let's see," Allen tapped his cards against pursed lips, peering exaggeratedly into thin air. "If I recall correctly," here he grinned, "that makes…36 games to—how many did you win, again? Oh right, none."

"YOU CHEATED!"

"Winning is winning," Allen sing-songed. "And besides, you couldn't catch me."

Kanda crossed his arms, hmphed, and turned his head, glowering darkly. So he didn't see it when Allen pounced, sending them sprawling to the floor, Allen on top, weight just this side of uncomfortable over his lungs, hands warm where they clutched his shoulders.

Allen leaned forward, tongue swiping broadly across Kanda's lips. "Loser pays the forfeit, remember? Don't worry," he said, smile widening. "I'll be gentle."


	5. Spectrum

Title: Spectrum

Characters: Allen and Kanda  
Summary: Master told him once that visible light was organized along a spectrum  
Notes: You can read anything into this that you want. It was originally intended to be a longer story, but my mind kept insisting 'that person' was actually Itachi. No spoilers.

Master told him once that visible light was organized along a spectrum, from red to violet, and while he didn't really get it then, because light is light, isn't it, when he watches Kanda get worked up, he thinks he kind of understands, because Kanda has his own visible spectrum, ranging from furious glares to sword-waving irritation, usually accompanied by fuming threats of "I'll kill you!" and, like with light, you need special tools to grasp what isn't readily visible outside of the spectrum. But anger and irritation can always be seen with the naked eye.

He wants to see more.

He takes to watching Kanda. He's not terribly subtle on the best of days; it's not something he's good at, and so he makes no effort to hide his stares. The resulting explosions are predictable and yield very little information.

Because, secretly, he's a little fond of the way Kanda looks when he's worked up, and because he always knows where he stands with an angry Kanda, he occasionally goes out of his way to say extra-naïve things just to make him angry.

He takes care never to go too far because the angrier Kanda gets, the quieter Kanda gets, and he can't say exactly why, but a quiet Kanda upsets him, seems wrong, on a level he doesn't understand, like blue grass or tea without sugar or Master being accomodating.

Which brings him to here where he stands, shocked, shaken, by the sight of this Kanda, white-knuckled grip on the hilt of his sword, its tip at the throat of a woman who wears his face.

He doesn't know what to do with this flat-eyed, controlled, quiet stranger whose rage seethes and burns, bubbling hotly just underneath the surface. In all of his Kanda-studies, he has never seen a mood like this, and he's at a loss about how to approach this stranger who possesses a face as familiar to him as his own.

He forces his legs to move forward. He takes the first step, and the second and third come faster. By the fourth, he's running, breath discharging in a rush. He hopes it's enough.


End file.
